


Beware

by the_parentheticals



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Anxiety, Body Horror, Fae & Fairies, Hints of Royality too, Hints of platonic Moxiety, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Other, Snake metaphors, death mention, emotional suppression, unintentional metaphors, why is the logicality tag all the way up there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-09-28 19:10:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17188709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_parentheticals/pseuds/the_parentheticals
Summary: Beware of the fae, my girl.





	Beware

Beware of anxiety.

Beware of what you feel for everyone and everything around you. Beware of your thoughts that nothing around you is safe and that you must run from something. Beware of the corner of your mind that knows these thoughts don’t make sense but you can’t help having them anyway. Beware of pain in your mind that you must live with every day.

Beware of going to a party and not being able to stand your very presence. Beware of hiding in the bathroom and hearing a voice singing softly to you and laughing. Beware of opening the door just a crack only to see no one that could be saying this to you. Beware of looking over your shoulder out the window.

Beware of climbing out because you cannot be there any more and investigating this voice is probably better. Beware of ignoring the part of your brain that tells yourself he might be a murderer and that he wants you to climb out the window. Beware of forcing yourself out the tiny window and regretting your choice to do it through the window.

Beware of the dramatic laughter than sounds like exactly the same voice as the one singing to you. Beware of not wanting to follow the voice into the forest, because you like dark places but that doesn’t mean that you want to go into one on someone else’s terms. Beware of being certain that these are not your terms.

Beware of the nearly comforting darkness that surrounds you from the moment you do step in. Beware of the fact that you’ve always liked the darkness to some extent. Beware of the fact that the direction his voice is coming from is also the one that becomes lighter every time. Beware of the burn of the light. Beware of every part of your brain telling you this is a terrible idea. Beware of going in anyway.

Beware of the red rose petals scattered along the path as you get closer and closer, ending with a full rose in a bright clearing. Beware of the smirk that settles on your face even as you think that. Beware of mouthing “drama queen” right then. Beware of the way the rose wilts as soon as you touch it. Beware of the man that arrives to take it from you.

Beware of his perfect fingers that you cannot count. Beware of the shine of his nails as he wraps his hand around yours. Beware of your sharp yank and glare. Beware of his white suit that shines in your face and that looks like something a Disney Prince would wear. Beware of yelling, “Hey, Princey, hasn’t anyone taught you the hands-off rule?”

Beware of his laugh as you realize that you should not have said this to him. Beware of the fact that you’re sure you’re going to be murdered and no one’s going to notice or care. Beware of the extreme offence he takes at the statement. Beware of actually finding that kind of funny.

Beware of the pause he takes just before reaching out to you with an oh-so-murderous look. Beware of him saying instead, “How dare you judge me like that, Charlie Frown?” Beware of you not having the faintest idea what is going on, but always taking a good opportunity to be sarcastic.

Beware you saying in response, “Judge me like what, Princey?” Beware of the realization suddenly hitting you that this guy is one of the fae. Beware of laughing so hard you nearly can’t breathe and wondering if, instead, this is how you die.

Beware of him calling you, “J-Delightful,” in return, and you are surprised because for how long has that guy been around? Beware of your smirk as he hums music from — oh god is that Disney? 

Beware of saying, “Sir Sings-A-Lot,” with a completely straight face even though you’re as gay as it gets. Beware of the excitement when he realizes he can play a game with you. Beware of the fact that you don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into but you know it’s not going to be good, but nothing is going to be good.

Beware of the bags under your eyes because you’ve only been in there for thirty minutes how is it 10pm already? Beware of not being — never being able to — sleep. Beware of the way you hide inside your hoodie and hope to just go argue with Roman again because anything and anywhere is better than here.

Beware of the arguments with him about stupid things. Beware of thinking that every Disney movie has a darker message, and if he’s going to play these games with you shouldn’t he have realized that by now? Beware of him trying to make you stay when both of you know you don’t want to be here any more than he does. Beware of his stage-furious arguments. Beware of him calling you, “Hot Topic,” and you responding with, “You think I’m hot.”

Beware of the fact that he’s so passionate about everything in a way that you don’t want to be but you also kind of want to be. Beware of knowing that there’s a reference in there somewhere but you don’t know what it is. Beware of panicking when you think that because what has he done to you?

Beware of arriving early and hesitating because this was a bad idea, you know it. Beware of running away through the dark and for once it’s safe there and not knowing if he’s going to follow you. Beware of being there but not really there and not being able to get out. Beware of knowing for once what true terror feels like and not liking it at all. Beware of forcing yourself to leave because this is what you need to experience for the rest of your life with someone so annoying and yet so interesting. Beware of magic that you have swore isn’t real but really is, somehow, somehow.

Beware of actually leaving but not being able to ask anyone about whether you’re making a horrible mistake. Beware of only having your mind to ask and your mind telling you that it’s a bad idea like always. Beware of going anyway if only to apologize.

Beware of not being able to leave somehow and panicking because this is wrong, this is so wrong. Beware of Princey running over and trying to touch you but you don’t want him to because it’s all too much and you don’t want to talk and you can’t talk. Beware of the sudden energy as you yell, “Get away from me!”

Beware of turning and walking away and ignoring him. Beware of him running after you and you turning away because you don’t want to see him, not now, not ever. Beware of him trying to apologize and you turning him away every time. Beware of going deeper and deeper into the forest until no one knows where you are anymore, not even you. Beware of your self-imposed isolation because you don’t want to hurt anyone. Beware of people finding you anyway.

Beware of cold eyes and dark glasses and a calm facade (because that’s what it is, a facade). Beware of warmth and a fatherly personality and knowing you shouldn’t trust him but doing so anyway and maybe that was when you started believing. Beware of not knowing either.

Beware of leaving, eventually, corrupted and different but still you, and seeing Princey again and laughing because you don’t know how long it’s been but he hasn’t changed a bit. Beware of yelling, “My name is Virgil!” after he calls you Edgar Allan Woe for the millionth time and then covering your mouth in horror. Beware of the soft response that follows, “I’m Roman.”

Beware of the one that sits in front of the stairs. Beware of the one that motivates you with the feeling that you must leave but you cannot leave. Beware of him, for he is only the first step. 

Beware of creativity.

Beware of growing up waiting for more. Beware of being foolish enough to risk everything on a half-remembered dream of your childhood you’re not sure is real. Beware of looking at things you shouldn’t see.

Beware of being absolutely sure you saw a fairy once, when you were too old to really believe and too young for anyone to take you seriously. Beware of knowing that you saw him once, and that they performed magic before disappearing.

Beware of just the right combination of bravery and arrogance, heroism and selfishness, to take you into the woods where no one in living memory has gone and come out alive. Beware of not knowing exactly why, only knowing that you have to — you must —go in. Beware of thinking yourself more capable than any who have come before you. Beware of coming in with an iron sword and nothing but your will and confidence.

Beware of losing all resolve the minute he locks eyes with you. Beware of knowing he doesn’t have to do anything and you will listen to him, whatever he does. Beware of knowing that he knows, too, and that he will rub it in any chance he gets. Beware of the way he pushes up his glasses with his expression completely flat in a mocking way. Beware of the cold that seems to radiate off him even though it’s the middle of summer.

Beware of looking up to meet his eyes and seeing only polished metal. Beware of the way he asks you why you came here. Beware of the tremor in your voice when you answer that you don’t know. Beware of the self-satisfied smirk when he hears that.

Beware of the way he tries to make you see sense. Beware of the direct manner in which he speaks and the calm way he demands your name. Beware of the fact that you immediately respond, “Roman Empire.” Beware of the fact that he shrugs and says that you may call him Logic and that he doesn’t care much one way or the other, but perhaps not in those exact words.

Beware of the sword swing you take at him, and the fact that he doesn’t want to fight you. Beware of the way you suggest an intellectual debate, just for fun. Beware of the glint in his eyes when he says, “I won’t have a battle of wits with an unarmed opponent.” Beware of the fact that he can’t say what he wants to say, but it’s enough for you. Beware of the thoughts that run through your head when you want to fight with him. Beware of lifting your sword enough that he sees it as a challenge. Beware of the shrug when you make him swear he’ll go easy on you.

Beware of the sparring match that you have, your every move countered with grace. Beware of the battle of passion against logic, and the realization that although he’s still far more powerful than you are, you are a well-trained sword fighter, and he is the fae version of a pale pasty nerd. Beware of feeling like it’s almost an equal match.

Beware of the second time you go to him. Beware of the sounds you can hear from all the way in your room with the door closed. Beware of the fact that you know if it were anyone else you’d be thoroughly under their spell by now. Beware of the relief that you feel when it’s Logic that you fight with so often.

Beware of the tiny, imperceptible to you smile Logic has just before you leave. Beware of not knowing that he hasn’t smiled in decades. Beware of the fact that you don’t look forward to needing to go. Beware of the fact that however hard you spar, there is that corner of your mind that wants to hold on for just a bit longer. Beware of the fact that you can never win with the fae, not really, but you can hold them off long enough to buy you time.

Beware of the fact that the third time you decide to take the long way around, and the forest gives you that. It gives you danger and excitement and you arrive much later than you should in Logic’s clearing. Beware of the glimpses you catch of Logic with someone else, probably another fae. Beware of the way you sit there, forcing yourself not to make a sound, to let no one know you were there.

Beware of getting up ever so carefully after who knows how long because, you’ve learned, time doesn’t work here. Beware of the expression on Logic’s face as he says, “You’re late.” Beware of the absolute fury in his voice, and you would be lying if you didn’t think he was a little bit beautiful right now. Beware of the way you both know he could have hurt you if he wanted to, would have hurt you at some point if he ever wanted to. Beware of the fact that he doesn’t and he just stares at you longingly, lovingly, as if there is no one else waiting for him.

Beware of knowing you need to meet this fae before you choose anything. Beware of the fact that the forest doesn’t like people coming in and out so many times and never staying on either side. Beware of the bird that leads you to him that abruptly flies into his mouth. Beware of hoping that this won’t be you.

Beware of him turning to you and he feels completely different than Logic, more inviting and yet more dangerous. Beware of the gentle clasp of his fingers around yours. Beware of him saying, “I know exactly what you want.” Beware of you nodding and him brushing his fingers against your cheek. Beware of the look in his eyes that tells you everything and nothing at the same time, and you know why Logic fell in love with this… fae.

Beware of the final sparring match you have with Logic about whether you should stay. Beware of arguing for staying, this time. Beware of Logic taking it the exact same way Logic takes anything. Beware of the arguments he comes up with that can’t convince you, not today. Beware of whispering to him that your name is Roman, Roman Prince, and that you’d like to stay with him forever. Beware of him stating in return his name is Logan, and that he’ll whisper to you his true name. Beware of him saying that he’s finally armed you and he kind of wants to debate you now. Beware of wanting to humour him.

Beware of the beauty you feel when he finally does. Beware of the pressure you get in return when you give him your middle name, because you know that you will never get tired of being with him. Beware of your first debate with Logan. Beware of the heated kiss that follows it and many more to come.

Beware of the one that stands in front of the light. Beware of the one bathed in it from the back, but utterly devoid of it in the front. Beware of the one with the flame and the spark and the passion, for he is the one you never will really allow to run free.

Beware of logic.

Beware of growing up wrong. Beware of never feeling quite right in the head or anywhere else.

Beware of running after your papers into the forest, the one your parents have told you never to go into. Beware of feeling anything when you remember how they laughed and laughed before throwing it all away.

Beware of looking up and seeing too many eyes in the man in front of you. Beware of not feeling in the least bit afraid. Beware of vaguely remembering things about these people — not people, you tell yourself, not people — and trying to follow them.

Beware of listening to him call you starblood. Beware of not knowing what it means. Beware of flashbacks of arguments your parents have about you and your mother and your mother’s family. Beware of locking eyes with him and knowing exactly what it means. Beware of thinking that he will want you to accept who you truly are and you don’t know if that’s what you want.

Beware of the shine in his eyes and the curve of his mouth. Beware of the soft question mark in your mind when he asks your name. Beware of your lack of tact when you ask him for his first. Beware of the rapid facial expression change when he hears that. Beware of the ever-so-soft turn of his lips when he calls himself Patton.

Beware of pushing up your spectacles and calling yourself Ainsel because you are a clever one. Beware of remembering it’s the only way you’ve survived your whole life until this point. Beware of hoping it’ll be enough to survive now. Beware of his laugh when he shakes his head and says that he’s far too old for that one. Beware of his wordplay when he does so.

Beware of knowing that it won’t be enough. Beware of not caring all that much. Beware of not having the energy to care.

Beware of whispering with all your energy, “My name is Logan,” and regretting it for all your days and none of your nights. Beware of his curious, curious smile that will never stop haunting you, you know even now. Beware of the way you breathe when he reaches out and adjusts a lock of your hair. Beware of the way you feel when he lets go and you never want him to stop. Beware of the crawling in your mind when you turn away and look away and away away away. Beware of running and never looking back but knowing that you will come back someday.

Beware of the glares your parents give you when you never tell them where you’ve been that day or the days after that. Beware of thinking about him even on days like today, cold and dry and rainy.

Beware of jumping over the fence your father built to keep you from leaving when you kept looking. Beware of taking your old pair of spectacles as a gift to him. Beware of thinking exactly what he might give you in return. Beware of not even looking as you run because you don’t need to. Beware of the forest knowing your path and leading you along it.

Beware of arriving not out of breath at all, like you normally should be. Beware of laughing and never wanting to stop, not really. Beware of feeling everything you shouldn’t be feeling. Beware of pressing the glasses and a kiss into his palm. Beware of feeling like everything is too fast, as if you’ve known him for years instead of three days. Beware of already feeling like you belong and never wanting to leave. Beware of squeezing your fingers around his and listening to him.

Beware of the way he says, “You’re very clever, Logan,” and “Don’t you want to stay, Logan?” and “Won’t you tell me just a little more of your name, Logan?” Beware of the fact that you can’t look away when he bites down on the birds he does catch. Beware of wanting to answer “yes” to every single one of them. Beware of feeling right and a different kind of wrong all at the same time. Beware of understanding him as much as you understand anyone.

Beware of thinking that, although fae don’t think like humans do, you don’t think like either one of them. Beware of wanting to just go into a place where you really do belong and you feel right. Beware of the feeling you get when you are with him, the desperate high you never want to feel ever again. Beware of the difficulty of staying, and the even greater difficulty of leaving. Beware of the attempts to construct arguments to leave and to stay. Beware of the complete and utter breakdown of reason.

Beware of knowing that leaving is what you must do, no matter how much you don’t want to. Beware of running into the forest for the third time in your life, and this time she’s trying to fight you. Beware of being sure she doesn’t want you to go to hi m right now or anymore. Beware of the rain on your face even though there isn’t any there shouldn’t be any. Beware of fighting with every step and your face is leaking that must be it.

Beware of gripping his hand in the clearing and locking eyes with him and knowing, the both of you. Beware of the concerned tone when he asks “Are you sure you want this?” Beware of the nonchalant way you respond, “I’ve never been as sure as now.” Beware of deciding right then that even if you might need to leave someday, you will stay here until he is as much a part of you as you are a part of him.

Beware of the years you spend with him, never aging, never growing, always changing. Beware of the sharp divide in your mind between Before and After. Beware of the urges — subtle at first, but the strong want to just eat that rat scurrying in front of you — that you can’t control anymore. Beware of the way your ears become pointier and longer and your freckles are stars now. Beware of the burn you do receive when you grip your glasses so tightly they snap and touch your bare hand. Beware of the irresistible desire to have Patton for yourself forever. Beware of the knot in your stomach when you think of humans.

Beware of the laughs right before and after Patton says, “I like that you’re a starblood. It means it’s going to be quicker and easier.” Beware of thinking that if this is quick and easy you don’t want to know what it’s usually like. Beware of the fact that you’re actually comfortable with not knowing something. Beware of the way the pain in his voice tells you he knows too much about all of that. Beware of the subtle shifts you don’t even realize have happened until it’s much too late.

Beware of the one that sits in front of the door. Beware of the one that uses carefully thought-out arguments to convince you to stay, that it’s better here than there. Beware of him, for he is not the final nail in the coffin.

Beware of morality.

Beware of relentless optimism from the outside, and the gradual heartbreak gnawing away at your core. Beware of odd changes in your mood at odd times. Beware of laughter and forced smiles. Beware of trying to be happy to hide the fact that you’re not really happy or here or anywhere else. Beware of trying to hide the fact that you’ve never really been happy.

Beware of smiling hard enough to hide everything else in your soul. Beware of not finding the forest disturbing in the least, even when you should. Beware of the almost normalcy you find even looking at it. Beware of the way nature loves you and you love it — her — and you’ll protect each other, you’ll protect every single piece of her.

Beware of coming closer and closer to the forest every day and trying to actually go in and knowing that you can’t. Beware of remembering home and your friends and your family. Beware of an entirely new family you know you will get if you wait long enough in there.

Beware of the snake that slithers in your brain, that makes you believe everything you’re telling yourself. Beware of that fact that you don’t know what the fae can do, not really. Beware of the fact that you don’t even know if the fae exist and still wondering what you will do and if you should go there and if you’re doing the right thing.

Beware of the day you finally do go in and finding it beautiful and refreshing and toxic. Beware of the fact that everything looks beautiful until it isn’t. Beware of the connection you instantly get and you feel you belong here. Beware of feeling refreshed when you’re inside, and finding it fascinating enough to stay for just a little bit longer. Beware of the fact that you also know you shouldn’t be here. Beware of the sense that feelings beat thoughts every time, for you. 

Beware of not needing anyone to tell you anything about this place because you already know far more than you ever should. Beware of sitting in the woods for hours on end and leaving when only minutes have passed. Beware of coming home only to find home is not where you left it.

Beware of the whispers that surround you everywhere you go about the nature boy. Beware of the flower crowns that you wear in your hair and the carefree smile that accompanies it. Beware of the piece of the forest that’s always with you and that will always protect you. Beware of not wearing any shoes even when the sharp rocks poke at you because you know it’s right for you at the very least.

Beware of not being able to take another step away from the forest. Beware of seeing the dark side of her for the first time. Beware of knowing that neither of you want you to go. Beware of thinking the forest is a mirror for yourself and your mind. Beware of the darkness that seeps into every inch of the world around you. Beware of the way you can’t move. Beware of the scales on the floor around you. Beware of the lies you hear from yourself, because you know the forest can’t lie to you or anyone else, but you can.

Beware of the heartbreak you feel for weeks afterwards. Beware of remembering everything everyone’s ever told you about the place and knowing that you shouldn’t go there anymore but feeling that you need to to be okay.

Beware of not being okay even though it’s okay not to be okay. Beware of being different forever, of feeling you’ve been different ever since you stepped in. Beware of the other side of you that could consume you at any moment. Beware of the realization that it really isn’t what you’ve always thought it was. Beware of still wanting to go anyway.

Beware of feeling that the forest will protect you even when there’s no one else to do it for you. Beware of knowing that you’ll miss everyone so terribly. Beware of hoping that you’ll still be able to see them in they come, of you take them. Beware of believing everything you’ve told yourself.

Beware of running into the darkness that’s even worse than you thought it would be. Beware of thinking that none of this is real and what ever did you tell yourself. Beware of thinking that’ s how it really looks and feeling that it isn’t, it won’t be, if you take yourself into that place. Beware of letting go of yourself because you are tired of being happy pappy Patton and you want to be in the forest forever because you belong there.

Beware of the way that the rest of the world disappears and there is only you and the forest. Beware of going into the darkness and coming out different and wanting.

Beware of not knowing any single part of yourself and not caring at all. Beware of wanting someone else, desperately. Beware of reaching out and feeling life end between your fingers. Beware of being different and loving it. Beware of not really caring so much about everything you want and everything you need.

Beware of not being able to leave, of not seeing another human in so long you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be one. Beware of not even thinking like them anymore. Beware of not finding anyone else in this part of the forest, and being so lonely. Beware of not being able to take anyone, not yet. Beware of watching them come to you, one by one.

Beware of being able to do such much more that you couldn’t do before. Beware of the magic that you feel everything for at the same time. Beware of these feelings, and the fact that they’re so different and yet so similar from your old feelings. Beware of the fact that, for once, you understand and you will give anything to have someone else to understand.

Beware of the one that stands in front of the window. Beware of the one that keeps you from looking out, because the only thing that matters is how you feel about all of this. Beware, for he is this one with final say over your decisions.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't want to publish this but I did anyway. I don't like this but at the same time I love it and am very proud of it.


End file.
